LEAVES AND THOUGHTS AT 3:06 P.M.

Outside the window all the leaves seemed light

and free, just floating in the summer breeze,

and all their thoughts were just as free, like slight

and wavy winds that moved with perfect ease.

TO THE HARBOR

 A friend who has been feeling the effects of a long-standing physical problem told me recently that he sees, now, that the problem is like a wind that’s actually “bringing [him] home to the harbor” (his words). He said somehow this physical difficulty is slowly blessing him with a greater awareness that his real home is actually the entire vast universe, and not his small, sometimes distressed body. He said this chronic problem seems to have opened him to what he called “the immensity of life itself”, and he knows, now, that he’s part of an immeasurable “wind” that’s softly and irresistibly blowing toward greater understanding. He said he has come to think of his physical discomfort as an opportunity. (He explained that the word “opportunity” derives from Latin words meaning “in the direction of the harbor”.) He said he certainly doesn’t welcome or enjoy the discomfort, but he’s watching it patiently and earnestly to see how it takes him to a harbor, and how understanding slowly spreads out on the horizon.    

LIFE IN THE AUDIENCE

     It seems fitting that in these, my retirement years, I have decided to formally retire from my role as a performer. It seems to me that I have been performing on a daily basis for most of my life, trying my best to do countless big and little jobs as perfectly as possible. I guess I felt I had to “prove something” over and over by carrying out this or that duty in a successful manner. It was as though I was on stage, and only the best performance would earn applause. No more, though. I’ve stepped down from the stage and am now sitting serenely in the audience, watching the wonderful world I live in perform. Just now the sky above me is doing its “light blue with wispy cloud” performance, a breeze is executing its “brushing against flowers” routine, sparrows are showing off their flits and flutters at the feeders, my lungs are doing their lifting and falling presentation in a perfect way, and even the distant traffic on the interstate is staging its own show of smooth and steady sounds. Tell me, why should I bother to perform when there’s so much to see on the stage of this surprising world?

A LARGER LIFE

Slowly it has become clear to me that my seemingly little life, the one I’ve been carefully protecting all these years, is not little at all and does not need my protection. Decades ago, as a boy, I somehow became convinced that what I called “my” life was a small, separate, and at-risk entity, but now I see how mistaken I was. I see that “my” life is not mine at all, but is part of, and belongs to, the endless Universe, the way a drop of water belongs to the ocean or a wisp of a breeze belongs to the everlasting wind. I see that I no more need protection than does a drop of ocean water. The drop drifts with its measureless ocean, the breeze works within the wind, and I move as the Universe moves, swirling along with the currents of life the way stars stream along in the immensity of the sky. I do sometimes like to pretend that I, by myself, perform and produce, but I know now that it’s the endless Universe (some call it “God”) that always does the work. I see I am part of something so large it makes “my” artificial little life, the one I invented in boyhood and have been caring for ever since, seem silly and beside the point.              

A 74-YEAR-OLD CLOUD

     As I was watching some clouds carrying themselves across the sky today and slowly shifting their shapes, it occurred to me that I am a sort of cloud myself. I, too, am constantly changing, despite my deceptively fixed appearance. If people had seen me sitting outside this afternoon, they wouldn’t have seen the river of fresh thoughts flowing through me, each one new and special, each one making me someone slightly new. Nor would they have seen the cells in my body being purified or replaced, or the fresh oxygen bringing newness to my lungs, or the blood ferrying freshness to every part of my body. They would have seen a 74-year-old silvery guy staring at the sky, perhaps at a fluffy cloud that first looked like a lion, and then a ship, and then a sailing heart. They wouldn’t have noticed that his life was slightly new each moment. They wouldn’t have seen what was constantly being born inside him.

A PURE RIVER OF GIFTS

 We use a purification system at home to filter our well-water, but fortunately, I don’t need or want purifying treatment for myself, because I, like all of us, am part of a universe that has been flowing along in the purest of ways for eons. I may not like a lot that happens to me, but that doesn’t change the fact that a fundamental freshness and healthiness has been part of the universe from the start. With my self-oriented way of seeing things, yes, there does seem to be “contamination” of all kinds around me. Severe storms certainly don’t seem clean and fresh, and sickness seems a long way from freshness. However, all of it, in some mysterious way – all of the successes and defeats and pleasures and sorrows – is the interwoven, flawless work of an unblemished universe. I guess my goal is to see life, not as I personally want it to be, but as it actually is – the faultless flowing of a river of gifts that are 100% gifts.    

      

A GRATUITOUS LIFE

It often amazes me to realize how gratuitous my life has been – how totally unearned and unmerited most of the gifts I’ve received have been. Yes, I know I’ve occasionally worked hard and earned some justifiable rewards, but the big gifts, the important gifts, have come to me as unearned, free-of-charge presents. For instance, there’s the flood of helpful thoughts that flow through me each day, all of them coming without much effort on my part. I don’t strain and sweat to make useful thoughts; they somehow simply show up, like on-the-house gifts from the universe. And what did I do to deserve being born of hard-working, level-headed, and loving parents? I showed up in November of 1941, and there before me was the undeserved gift of a fairly well-off and wonderful family. Finally, there are the gifts I get day by day – a smile from someone, or a sweet word of kindness, or hours of steady sunshine, all handed to me on a platter free of charge. I wonder if I should feel embarrassed about all these free handouts, or just grateful for a universe that seems to give because it’s fun.

A TIP OF THE HAT

      During a walk with Delycia on this warm morning, I took my hat off whenever we entered a shady area, just to cool down, and it started me thinking about the old custom of men “tipping” their hats when in the presence of someone special – tipping their hats, and perhaps bowing with stately graciousness. We were not walking past kings and queens this morning, but we were surely in the midst of magnificence. There were, for instance, majestic old trees along the streets, some of which were here when my grandparents were young, and which still stand in a resplendent and regal way. Do they not deserve a tip of the hat and a bow? And what about the soft winds that cooled us as we walked, winds that have been working their magic in a solemn and measured manner for eons? Shouldn’t an old, grateful guy occasionally give them a tip of the hat and a cultured bow as he walks in the morning with his sweetheart?

A HOLY BACKYARD

 I’m sure somewhere in the Bible the phrase “a holy place ” is used, and I thought of it today as I was sitting beside Delycia in our backyard surrounded by her overflowing flower gardens. I hope I don’t offend anyone when I say that our backyard seems as holy a place as any church. Don’t we go to church to worship what’s beautiful and good and true, and don’t I find that in our backyard on a daily basis? What’s more beautiful than a crowd of lustrous coreopsis blossoms, and what’s more full of goodness than grand trees sharing their shade on a summer day? And where is the truth, and the whole truth, better found than in an everyday backyard with breezes blowing by and birds swooping and singing all around? I agree with Emily Dickinson, who said she keeps the Sabbath by staying at home and listening in her garden to the sermons of God, “a noted Clergyman”. What better sermon than the sight of feverfew blossoms floating on their stems, or the sound of house wrens having dignified discussions near their nest?    

BUT

    “But” is a simple, unfussy word that sometimes helps me stay humble. When I think I clearly understand something, the word “but” occasionally steps in to show me what I missed. If I say some situation is just what I need, “but” says there are elements in it that I definitely don’t need, as in “You love these fresh cherries, but you don’t need to eat dozens of them.” If I say sorrow has nothing good in it for me, “but” shows me some understanding I can gain from it, as in, “Your loss has brought you sadness, but watch for the wisdom that waits inside it.”  The word “but” scolds me in kindhearted ways: “You think you’re right in this argument, but you see only a small sliver of the truth.” “You think you know what you need, but that’s like saying you know what the Grand Canyon needs.” “You think you know yourself, but yourself is like miles and miles of mountains.”  

     “But” is an unpretentious word, but it always brings me down to size.